In Middle Men, Stegner Fellow and New Yorker contributor Jim Gavin delivers a hilarious and panoramic vision of California, portraying a group of men, from young dreamers to old vets, as they make valiant forays into middle-class respectability. In “Play the Man” a high-school basketball player aspires to a college scholarship, in “Elephant Doors”, a production assistant on a game show moonlights as a stand-up comedian, and in the collection’s last story, the immensely moving “Costello”, a middle-aged plumbing supplies salesman comes to terms with the death of his wife.

    The men in Gavin’s stories all find themselves stuck somewhere in the middle, caught half way between their dreams and the often crushing reality of their lives. A work of profound humanity that pairs moments of high comedy with searing truths about life’s missed opportunities, Middle Men brings to life a series of unforgettable characters learning what it means to love and work and be in the world as a man, and it offers our first look at a gifted writer who has just begun teaching us the tools of his trade. (Available February 2013) [READ MORE]



    Uncle ray called me from the ninth hole at canyon crest. “Listen, Sean,” he said. “i  want to do you a favor. Me and Fig, we’ve been talking. we’ve got a story for you.”

    It was ten o’clock on Friday morning. I got out of bed and looked out the window. The sky was still gray. I usually tried to sleep late enough for the morning fog to burn off along the coast. Sometimes this meant  sleeping past noon, but  i was willing to do it. I hadnt talked to ray in over a year.

    Your mom says the studio is giving you the runaround,” he said.

    You two are talking?”

    “I called her yesterday to wish her happy birthday.” “Her birthday was six months ago.”

    “Come meet me and Fig for lunch.” “Out there?”

    “We’re getting steaks at the mission.” “You’re buying?”

    “Sean,” he said. “Get cleaned up. We’re  going to tell you this story. You can put it in a movie.”

    You’re buying, right?” “Yeah, me and Fig.”

    Eventually i found some long pants and got ready for the drive out to riverside. When i stepped onto the second-floor landing, I spotted  Mr Nishihara,  the  landlord, down below in the courtyard, trying to fix the pump on the fountain. the stone cherubs were parched. I waited for him to take a break, but he just kept at it, so I popped the screen out of my bathroom window and jumped down onto a dumpster.

    Minty was down in the alley, taking a shortcut back from the beach. with his board under his arm, he walked barefoot on the jagged asphalt, expertly sidestepping broken glass.

    “Its a toilet out there today,” he said, looking up at me. His wetsuit was peeled halfway down. I could see a rash spreading across his chest.

    “I’m having steak for lunch.”

    “Nice!” he said, raising his fist in solidarity. He kept walking and for a while I stood there on the dumpster, watching him until he disappeared around the corner.

    There  were two empty cans  of Tecate  in my passenger seat. I swept them down to the floor. Then I started my car. Then I kind of spaced out and forgot that I had started it, and started it again. Thats the worst sound in the world. A dead bottomless shriek, like a knife in a blender. For the first time in months I felt awake.


    Jim Gavin’s fiction has appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Zoetrope, ZYZZYVA, and Slice magazine. He lives in Los Angeles.

  • AUTHOR Q & A


    The stories in your collection move from adolescence to middle age.  Was this arc intended, and did you have a particular structure in mind when you began?

    I didn’t have a plan before I began writing any of these stories, but at some point I started thinking of them in terms of the old guild system, the movement from apprentice to journeyman to master.  Many different jobs and pastimes are evoked, but the primary vocation here is life, and what it means to be a full person.  The first three stories are apprentice tales.  They are brighter and more overtly comic. The protagonists are naïve and vain and clueless about the grim realities surrounding them and the people in their lives.  They are racing towards the future where all their dreams will come true.  The next three stories are journeyman tales. In these, the mood grows darker. The protagonists have come of age, they know a little bit more about life; they’ve amassed various triumphs and failures but they’ve had to revise their sense of the future.  They still don’t know who they are, and what’s waiting for them, and for the most part, they are just drifting along and holding on to their old dreams and vanities. The last story, “Costello,” is about a master.  He has lived past his dreams.  He takes the world as it is and gets on with the business of life. I didn’t feel the need to make this structure explicit anywhere, but in almost all the stories there is some kind of mentor relationship going on, even if the knuckleheaded protagonists don’t quite realize or appreciate it.  I think the young characters all have in common a certain dreamy resistance to reality, which sustains them with a sense of hope through tough times but also catches up to them in terrible ways. They are all failures in some sense, but it’s not for a lack of trying.  They are looking for a way into the world, not a way out. And if they have any virtue at all, it is the wisdom and humility that comes through failure.  The Lilys have a record called the “A Brief History of Amazing Letdowns” which I think would be a great alternative title for the book.   The characters in these stories never get what they want, but they usually find something more important than the actual thing they were chasing.


    The collection opens with a vision of martyrdom and Catholic themes and imagery play  throughout.  What role has your Catholic upbringing played in coming to write these stories?

    It might be the most important factor.  My parents made a lot of sacrifices to put me and my sisters through Catholic elementary school and high school, and later I went to Loyola Marymount University, a Jesuit school.  I have fond memories of all those places, but that has more to do with the people I was lucky enough to meet than with any real understanding of the Church.  In typical lapsed fashion, I had to drift away from the Church to finally become interested in its history and theology.  Sixteen years of Catholic school and I was never assigned the Divine Comedy!  I had to discover all that on my own, and sadly I think that’s pretty common. Everything that is beautiful and inspiring about the Church has been buried under the rubble of a few conservative talking points.  All the characters in the collection come out of this parochial environment, and though Catholicism isn’t always foremost on their minds, they can’t escape its influence, and they see the world accordingly.  Hokey anecdote time: my great aunt is a nun, and just an amazing person in general  Many years ago, when I was in high school, she visited and we all went to mass.  At the time, my mom was heavily involved with our parish school and constantly at odds with the pastor, an arrogant asshole who made everybody’s life miserable. My mom referred to him, with her usual subtlety, as “Father Hitler.” As we pulled into the parking, Father Hitler walked in front of our station wagon.  My dad slowed down. My mom said, “Hit him.” We all laughed, but then my aunt said, “Oh look at that poor man. He’s suffering.” I thought she was crazy at the time, but that’s because she could see what I couldn’t: we’re all suffering and we all need mercy.  I think that’s true beyond the perameters of any religion, but Catholicism dramatizes this struggle in a beautiful and mysterious way. If nothing else, it’s a useful starting point for a ficiton writer. Most of the characters in these stories are looking for mercy, and some of them are lucky enough to find a person who is selfless enough to provide it.


    What is the significance of the title? Why are these Middle Men?

    These characters are all caught in the middle, stuck half way between the heaven they assume they’re moving towards, and the hell that is actually waiting for them. I mean this in terms of money. The context of this book is the American middle class, at least as I understand it.  Neither of my parents went to college, and none of my friends had parents who went to college.  They were electricians and plumbers and truck drivers, but at the time, those jobs provided more than enough for people to own a house in a decent neighborhood.  The kids I grew up with were all expected to do better than their parents, to go to college and use their brains instead of their hands.  My family always lived month to month, with no savings, and after my dad lost his job, my parents spent the next fifteen years trying and failing to climb out of debt.  We did our best, and managed to hold onto the house for a while, but the bank finally took it last year.  In this way, I think we were very typical of the middle class, working more and more for less and less, and always living beyond on our means.  And yet we had it so much better than so many people and I’ve never considered myself anything but extremely lucky and thankful for everything I had growing up and all the opportunities I had to get a good education.  Anyway, I say all this because throughout the book, money gnaws at the souls of the characters.  It’s not always the most important thing in their life, or their sole motivation, but it colors every decision they make.  In Ulysses, Stephen Dedalus is constantly tabulating the coins in his pocket, trying to figure out his next move. My relationship to money is ignorant and often deranged and in that sense I suppose my ideal reader would be anyone who has ever ever tried to make a student loan payment with a credit card, only to have it denied because the loan and credit card were issued by the same bank, and so instead of dealing with the situation in any kind of rational way, you spend the next year not answering the phone and throwing away all the letters from the student loan people, and while this is happening you’re working multiple jobs and reading books and watching the Simpsons and drinking with friends and falling in love and losing people you love and eating lots of fast food and dreaming of some kind of magical windfall that will allow you to pay off you and your family’s debts all at once, even though deep down you know it will never happen because you’re fucked like everybody else which is ok because you have friends and family and Withnail and I and offshore winds and Paul Pierce’s step back jumper.  Or some version of that, anyway.




    Dear Reader,

    It gives me great pleasure to share with you Jim Gavin’s amazing debut collection of stories. After a litany of self-described “failed careers”—gas station manager, sportswriter, plumbing salesman, Jeopardy! production assistant—many of which inform this work, Jim began taking night classes at the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and eventually  earned a Stegner Fellowship in Fiction at Stanford University. He soon made his literary mark with the story “Costello” (included here), which The New Yorker accepted unsolicited. When his manuscript went out on submission, editors around town vied aggressively for it (a story collection!), and Simon & Schuster was lucky enough to prevail, in large part due to a groundswell of enthusiasm that extended beyond the editorial department. The whole house fell for Jim, for his immense gifts as a writer, and for his wonderful humility and humor. Though I came on board as editor once the magic spell had already been cast here at S&S, from the moment I turned the first page I knew that Jim had been worth all the hype, and more. He’s an incredible talent.

    These hugely entertaining and accessible stories are all about men, mostly young men, who are all in some ways lost and searching for direction. Though not overtly linked, the collection loosely follows the structure of the old guild system, beginning with the story of a high school basketball player (an apprentice) and ending with the story of a widowed plumbing salesman (a master). As all of us have, you will recognize yourself in these stories, no matter how different your life experience may be from Jim’s characters or how far away from California you live. The scenes and moments in Middle Men will make you laugh and cry, and I promise that once you start reading you won’t be able to stop.

    I urge you to savor these stories, and if you do become a fan, I’d love to hear from you.

    Warm wishes,

    Millicent Bennett  |  Senior Editor  |  millicent.bennett@simonandschuster.com




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